The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Texts from Ada

Just got this in my inbox

[Photo of “Free Santa” post]

I’m disappointed in you, kid

Maybe this is my new lowest moment. Sitting in the back seat of Cynthia’s dad’s car with a bag of frozen peas wrapped around my bruised knuckles at three in the morning, listening to Christmas carols while Jeremy keeps hopping over land mines planted for him by his girlfriend’s father.

Yes, I really do intend to continue making a living by playing the trumpet. I know, it’s wild.

No, I’m not very interested in making money. If I were, I’d probably have a different job.

Yes, Cynthia does deserve the best. That’s why she’s with me.

I’d be impressed if I weren’t so miserable.

I wanted to save Christmas for Anabelle. I promised her I’d never let anyone hurt her. But her inn was robbed, I got myself arrested, and here’s a cherry to top off the shit sundae…

After the police discharged me, they handed me a plastic bag containing everything that had been in the pockets of my Santa suit prior to my arrest. Including that red teddy Anabelle’s probably never going to wear now.

It’s like every mistake I’ve ever made in my life has been rolled down a hill of snow, growing bigger and bigger until it’s the size of a boulder before it crashes down on me.

I’m too impulsive.

I’m too hotheaded.

I don’t pay attention.

I don’t listen.

I thought I was being careful. I thought I’d learned from my mistakes, but I didn’t, because here I am.

They’ve got me on an assault charge that Weston is most definitely not going to drop, especially since I felt his nose crunch under my fist. And Anabelle’s prized personal Santa collection, written up in House & Garden , is gone, along with all of her ornaments other than the sweetgum one. Maybe Weston destroyed everything. I wouldn’t put it past that prick to throw someone else’s favorite things into a fire.

The car stops, and I look up to see Cynthia’s dad has pulled over close to the inn. He glances back at me. He has a gruff face, a square jaw, and thick, curly salt-and-pepper hair. “You did something dumb.”

“Yeah,” I agree, feeling it more intensely than the pain in my fist.

“But I’m guessing most guys would do the same. If some prick was stalking my wife—” He looks pointedly at Jeremy. “Or my daughter, I’d deck him in the face too. Only next time don’t do it in front of a police officer. We’ll get you off, though. The publicity’s going to be a bitch for that guy once it comes out that he stole from Anabelle.”

“If it comes out,” I say numbly, feeling defeated. Because Weston is definitely fucking smarter than I am. If it comes to a battle of wits, he wins. The only satisfaction I have in this situation might be the feeling of his nose cracking under my fist. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t enjoy it, but it was definitely not worth it.

Jeremy nods at me as he unlatches his seat belt. “Come on, buddy, let’s go inside.”

Cynthia’s dad, who introduced himself as Mr. Matthews even though we’re all adults, frowns at him. “Don’t you need a ride back home?”

“Nope,” he says with an easy grin as he gets out of the car. “I’ll be going home with your daughter, sir. Have a good night.”

Damn. Maybe I am impressed.

I half-expect Mr. Matthews to come out swinging, but he actually chuckles before saying, “I’ll be in touch. Don’t go anywhere, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” I say as I get out of the car behind Jeremy, feeling miserable in my Santa suit.

Part of me feels like I should just take off. Get in my car and leave and never come back. Maybe it would be better that way for everyone. If I’m gone, I can’t fail Anabelle anymore—and she and her friends can’t realize what everyone else has. That I’m a man who causes trouble but can’t fix it.

“Oh, would you stop it?” Jeremy says, grabbing my shoulder. It’s only then that I realize I’m still holding the peas. I don’t really want to anymore, but if I drop them in the middle of the street, it will make me feel like more of an asshole.

“Stop what?”

“Getting down on yourself. Cynth’s dad is not a man who gives a shit about preserving people’s feelings, and he told you he would have done the same thing. I would have too.” He glances down at his hands. “Well, I would have kicked him. Can’t play the trumpet with a bum hand. My point is that you got set up, and it sucks. No one’s going to tell you it doesn’t suck. But you can’t just roll over and let that guy win. That’s not like you.”

I kick at a stone in the pavement, not able to look at him. “How would you know?”

He grabs my shoulder again. “Because you’re Ryan Fucking Reynolds.”

My mouth tips up. “You know my last name is really Langston.”

At least, he does now.

I didn’t come to Williamsburg to do any harm, so I figured there was no reason to lie or use a false ID. I also didn’t have one. While I’d had papers for Ryan Reynolds last year, I’d disposed of them after returning to New York. Roark was the one who took care of setting that shit up. I wouldn’t have the first idea how to go about acquiring that kind of thing.

Up until now, I haven’t shared my real last name with anyone. Ada hired me under the table, and Grandma Edith arranged for me to pay for my room in cash. But the police wanted to see my ID, and obviously I had to give it to them.

I probably should have told everyone sooner, but it felt like that name was attached to a different Ryan—the one I didn’t want to be anymore.

Jeremy exhales loudly through his nose, probably trying not to laugh. “Ryan Reynolds sounds cooler, no offense. My point is that you’ve been fighting the good fight for all of us over the last month. Why stop now? Why give up? We’re all ready to fight with you, Ryan. We want to.”

I feel like he just gave me a shot of the hard stuff and a pat on the back, but the warm feeling fades after a second. “None of you know who I really am. I’ve kept it from you.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “I couldn’t give a shit if your last name is Langston or Reynolds, or what you used to do or where you used to live. I know you, just like you know me. And I’m happy to call you my friend.”

“I’m not smart enough to beat him.”

“You think I am? We’re goddamn lucky we’re with two of the smartest ladies out there.”

I smile at that, because he’s obviously right. But still…

“What if she’s not willing to let my past stay in the past?” I say, not even able to look at the inn yet, or to focus on any of the dozens of other questions charging through my head. What if she’s hurt? What if whoever did this for Weston came back? What if Weston came back?

“There’s only one way to find out.” He claps me on the back then, and I nod, feeling a burning sensation behind my eyes, and start walking toward the inn with a greater sense of purpose.

But the good feelings inside of me only last as far as the door to the B&B. It takes all the energy I have left in me to unlock the door and step inside.

“They’re here, they’re here!” Cynthia yells from the parlor, probably waking up any guests who decided to stick around after the theft, followed by my very public arrest, and she comes charging around the corner. Jeremy grins and catches her as she jumps into his arms.

“Oh, thank God, he didn’t kill you,” she says.

I chuckle at that, but my focus shifts as soon as Anabelle comes into view. Her face is pale, but she’s okay. She’s okay. Joe is with her, but he just gives me a barely there smile and hangs back.

My eyes begin to well as I step forward and wrap my arms around Anabelle. The feeling of being unworthy takes hold of me, tightening like a plastic bag around my neck, threatening to cut off the air I need to survive.

“Come upstairs with me,” she says.

I couldn’t deny her anything. I nod in acknowledgment to the others, and then let her lead me upstairs and into her room, the door clicking shut behind us.

Saint Nick meows and twitches his tail but doesn’t get off the bed. I’m still clutching the damn peas. I lift the bag up and admit, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

She takes it from me and throws it into the trash can, then lifts my scraped and swollen knuckles to her lips as if she can kiss it better.

“I messed up,” I confess. “I don’t know how to make it better. I…there are some things I need to tell you.” My mouth tries to smile and fails. “To start, my name. Jeremy knows now, so it only feels right to tell you. It’s Langston, not Reynolds.”

“None of us really believed your name was Ryan Reynolds,” she says softly, and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” She looks up at me, with her hair loose around her shoulders, her mouth in a firm, determined line. Staring at her is like staring at the sun.

“I do. I want to.” It’s part lie, part truth. I want her to know everything, because I want her to accept me as I am. I don’t want her to know everything, because I’m terrified she’ll turn me away.

“So tell me. Tell me everything. I’m ready to listen.”

I slump down onto the bed and prop my head in my hands, and she leans down and presses a kiss onto my brow.

“I love you, Ryan. Nothing is going to change that. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I’m not perfect. When we got here this evening, I was worried something had happened to Joe, and instead of charging into the B&B to make sure he was okay, I sat down on the steps. That’s awful.”

“You shut down,” I say. “That’s just the way your brain works. It’s not your fault. This is…this is my fault.”

She kisses my brow again, her lips soft and sweet—a blessing I probably don’t deserve. Then she surprises me by climbing into my lap, facing me, her legs wrapped around me. She’s wearing her clothes from earlier, and even though I have that new teddy of hers in my pocket, I don’t wish she was wearing something different. This is my Anabelle—naturally sweet and sexy. My girl, for at least for another fifteen minutes.

She wraps her arms around me, resting her head on my shoulder. “I used to have a lot of trouble looking people in the eye when I was a kid. It felt strange to me. I’m mostly used to it now, but when I have to tell someone something that’s hard, it’s still easier if I don’t have to look at them. Maybe it’ll be easier for you to tell me like this.”

“I don’t deserve you,” I say, finally letting the thought out.

“Don’t be one of those foolish men who says that and then runs away.”

“I’m not going to run. I’m not strong enough. I don’t think I could bring myself to leave you.”

She runs her hands over my back and kisses my neck. “Good, but don’t tell yourself you’re not strong.” She pulls away enough to look at me, then leans in and kisses my scar. “You’re strong, Ryan. You’re kind. And you’ve spent the last month changing our lives for the better. Not just me, but also Cynthia, Jeremy, and Joe. We’re all in this together, sweetheart.”

Hearing her call me my nickname for her warms me up from the inside. I bury my face in her hair, taking in her scent and the feeling of her wrapped around me. I feel like I really am at home.

I’m still scared she’ll come to her senses and realize that I’m all liability, no reward. But I owe it to her to tell her everything and let her decide.

I wrap my arms around her and then loosen them—so she can pull away if she wants to.

“I used to be a thief, Anabelle.”